


We're going to be friends

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky and Tony have a secret chat, Established Relationship, Finally, M/M, Poor Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers is the Best Partner, Tony Stark Feels, secret meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: Tony and Bucky finally have a talk.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: STAY [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	We're going to be friends

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, everyone! This is something I have wanted to happen for a while, but didn't really know where to fit it in. I think I found it's place here.

_Did Steve kiss me goodbye this morning?_

That was the thought that kept running through his mind.

Logically, he knew the answer was yes. Steve _always_ kissed him goodbye. Wherever Tony was--in bed, the kitchen, in the garage--if he was home, Steve would search the house until he found him, put a hand on his waist, his thumb edging under Tony’s shirt to touch his skin, lean down and kiss him. It was usually quick, no more than a two-second press of his lips, but it was warm, friendly, and above all, _consistent_.

His Steve was nothing if not consistent.

So, why couldn’t he remember if he had kissed him this morning?

And why was it the only thought in his head?

It probably shouldn’t be. Sitting here outside this old, abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, miles from anywhere, miles from anything, with no suit, no weapon, no back-up, no FRIDAY, no idea of what to expect, why was it the only thing he could think of was whether or not Steve had kissed him?

Tony got out of the car and looked around. He didn’t want to get out. It wasn’t the safety of the Iron Man suit--hell, the Hemi-Cuda’s windows weren’t even bullet-proof, just plain old safety glass--but just being inside that metal shell was a source of comfort. It was like a womb, a metal womb that was both protective and comfortable. It was an illusion, of course. Any metal could be breached if given the time and resources, but sometimes the illusion of safety was enough.

He had no illusions about this place, though. There was no safety here. But here he was.

_Did Steve kiss me goodbye this morning?_

Put that out of your head, Stark. Focus.

That last thought didn’t really feel like his own. Once, the part of him that gave voice to that particular thought had been the one of criticism and self-hatred. Steve had helped him get over that. Steve had gently but insistently turned him away from all-- _most_ \--of the cruel, hurtful thoughts he had about himself. Steve with his warm words, and calming presence, and deep eyes, and sweet, soothing, _consistent_ kisses... _Did Steve_ \--

Stark. FOCUS.

Right. Focusing.

And now that voice was almost always on his side. It almost always was a help to him. Instead of self-hatred, it had become the voice of self-preservation instead. And it helped. Especially when Steve wasn’t near him, it helped.

The silence pressed in on him from all sides. It was quiet at home, but this was beyond even that. It didn’t even seem like there were any birds in the surrounding trees. Which was strange. The building was part of an old logging operation. It was made of corrugated sheet-metal, huge, cavernous, with some dust-grimed windows that were almost all shattered now. There should be hundreds of swallows in the eaves of this place, building their little mud nests all jostled together like row houses. There should be sparrows, and finches, and starlings. All of the birds that Tony had gotten used to seeing at his own place, should also be here in _this_ place, but, for the moment at least, there were none around.

That made him nervous.

He took a few steps toward the building. It looked like it had once held cut logs and machinery. Tony didn’t think it held anything now. Except the lingering scent of lumber and machine oil. Maybe a family of raccoons or skunks. Maybe a few ghosts, too. There could be some of those.

On second thought, there was _definitely_ one of those in there. And he was waiting for Tony.

_Did Steve kiss me goodbye this morning?_

God, Tony hoped he had.

He crossed the short distance from the ‘Cuda’s bumper to the door of the warehouse. The ground was mostly dirt out here. Rich, dark, fertile earth. Even now, in late winter, tiny green shoots of underbrush were peeking out of the ground, creating a soft carpet for Tony to walk on. In a month, it would be a riot of green with wildflowers and the beginnings of ivy climbing the side of the warehouse. It would be beautiful. The lush urgency of nature overtaking the manmade structure, covering it, growing over it, bringing it to its metaphorical knees. There was some kind of lesson there. Tony knew there was. Just as he knew that Steve would grasp it immediately.

_We should come back here_ , Tony thought, standing in front of the half-open door, peering inside, trying to decipher the complication of shadows within. _Bring lunch. A bottle of wine. Steve could bring his sketchpad and charcoal._ The warehouse buried in ivy would make a gorgeous picture. Tony could hang it in the garage next to the one of the Bentley and the half dozen others he had begged, sweet-talked, or outright stolen from Steve over the months they’d been together.

The thought was a nice one. A picnic lunch in the middle of nowhere. Complete isolation. They could even have sex out here. The chance of anyone coming upon them was pretty small, and the thought of Steve sliding into him out here was pretty good. But there was this to get through first. This secret meeting in the shadows with a ghost.

_Did Steve--_

Focus.

Right. Focusing.

Tony didn’t bother trying to open the door further, he just slipped inside like a ghost himself.

Tony had received the call that morning. He’d been at the supermarket. Steve usually went, but he had a test. American Literature. He’d studied. God, he’d studied so hard. Author’s names, dates, themes, short answers, paragraph answers, essay portion. He was worried. He wanted to do well. He wanted so much to do well. He’d started chewing his thumbnails again.

Tony tried to soothe him. Tried to be supportive, and took it upon himself to do all the household stuff for the last week so Steve could study. Steve let him, and that made Tony feel good. That Steve trusted him to take over and never questioned him even when Tony did everything his own way instead of the way Steve usually did it.

That’s the way he’d ended up at the supermarket when his phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. Tony let it go to voicemail and kept shopping.

Once he got the groceries and picked up his dry cleaning and had a burger with Jeff, it was one o’clock and he’d forgotten all about the call. He checked his phone after lunch and listened to the message. It was short. To the point. Not much more than a time and place, and now here he was.

The ceiling was high and bare, the beams exposed. The floor was cracked, dirt-covered concrete, but just like outside, green was sprouting up through the cracks, searching for the shafts of sunlight that fell through the shattered windows. The clearing was probably man-made rather than natural, but in either case, it let the sun in, and it let the greenery grow.

Wherever the light didn’t directly hit, the gloom still lingered. Tony’s eyes searched each pocket of darkness, looking for a shadow that was maybe a little more distinct, a little more substantial. He didn’t want to just call out. It seemed too aggressive somehow. The last thing Tony wanted to appear right now was aggressive.

He looked around, scuffed his toe in the dust and earth covering the concrete, unconsciously tracing out letters. S-T-E

“Stark.”

_Did Steve kiss me goodbye this morning?_

“Hey, Barnes.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I was curious.”

Bucky stepped out of the dim to Tony’s right. It was not one of the darker points Tony had seen. In fact, he seemed to have simply materialized out of thin air. Maybe he really _was_ a ghost.

“Are you armed?” Bucky asked, and it was almost casual. As if the answer didn’t matter. As if asking if Tony wanted to catch a movie later.

Tony held his arms out to either side and spun in a slow circle. “Free and clear,” he said. “You?”

“Nah.”

“I feel like there’s a joke there, but I’m not sure if this is the right time or place.”

Bucky snorted a little, a sliver of a smile appearing then disappearing in the blink of an eye. “Don’t hold back on my account. I can handle it.”

“See, now you just made it worse,” Tony said, then held up his hand. “But I’m going to restrain myself.”

“Suit yourself.”

They stood looking at each other. They weren’t standing close together, but there wasn’t much distance between them either. Just enough to give each other their space, just enough to dispel any illusion of threat. Tony had shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans after showing Barnes they were empty. Bucky’s hung at his sides. He wore a leather glove over the vibranium one. The effect was intriguing. Far from hiding it from attention, it would make a person curious. It would make a person wonder about him. Tony wasn’t sure if Barnes realized how he drew the eye. Steve had said he’d been a ladies’ man back in the day, but that had been a long time ago. A lot had happened since then.

Tony shook his head a little, dismissing it. “So, if you’re not armed, I guess you didn’t ask me out here to kill me?”

That little smile again. There and gone. It reminded him achingly of Steve’s, and Tony thought of how the two of them mirrored each other’s habits now. Steve and Bucky must have done the same. He wondered which one that little half-smile had originally come from.

“I’m not going to kill you, Stark,” he said, then glanced around and shrugged. “But, I thought if you still wanted to kill me...this wouldn’t be such a bad place to go.”

A brief image popped into his head. He and Steve lying on a blanket outside. Steve kissing him while Tony stroked him lazily, and all the while Bucky’s body lay decomposing under six inches of dirt behind the warehouse.

Tony shuddered, feeling suddenly ill. _Intensely_ ill. He shook his head. “I don’t want to kill you.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “You sure?” He took a step closer, lifted his head a little, unconsciously--and symbolically--baring his throat. “It’s okay, you know.” That little smile again, but this time it stayed, sad and understanding. “I deserve it. And no one would ever know.”

Tony waited for that voice inside his head to speak up, to tell him what to do, but it was silent. He was on his own here. Just him. Just Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Only child of a murdered couple.

_Former_ playboy, thank you very much.

_Did Steve kiss me goodbye this morning?_

Steve.

Tony let out a breath and it was almost a laugh. “Are all you Brooklyn boys this self-sacrificing? Or is it just you two?”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m a long way from Brooklyn, pal.”

“Maybe not as long as you think.”

Bucky laughed a little, and it seemed like some of the tension between them dissipated. They didn’t become friends in the moment, but Tony felt like they weren’t enemies anymore, and that was a good feeling.

He traced another letter with the toe of his shoe, adding a V to the S,T, and E.

“So, did you just call me out here to offer me your head on a plate, or was there something else?”

Bucky eyed him speculatively. “Steve said you were a smartass.”

Even though Steve had been very much on his mind--almost overwhelmingly so--during this whole encounter, Tony realized it was the first time either of them had mentioned him. He wondered how much _Bucky_ had been thinking about him.

“He’s not wrong,” Tony said.

“Yeah, well, he always was a perceptive little shit.”

“And stubborn.”

Bucky laughed for real this time. Tony couldn’t help grinning back. Above them, a few birds began to chirp. “ _Yeah,_ ” Bucky said. “You’ve got that right.”

“Speaking of,” Tony said, “he’s probably wondering where I am.”

Bucky nodded. He took another step closer, but Tony didn’t feel threatened. “There’s one other thing I wanted to say to you.”

Tony was suddenly terrified he was going to mention Howard and Maria. He didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not after talking about Steve. It would feel like a step backward. Tony didn’t want that. He wanted to leave this on a warmer note.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to--”

“Thank you.”

Tony stopped talking. “What?”

Bucky shrugged. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“For Steve,” he said simply. “For saving him that day. And…” he smiled again. That little half-smile Tony knew so very well. _Loved_ so very well. “And for making him happy.”

Tony blinked, surprised.

“You don’t think much about being happy when you’re a kid, do you, Stark?” Bucky asked. His eyes had taken on a sort of cloudy look, dreamy. Tony could almost see him replaying some childhood memory behind those eyes. He wished he could see it behind his own. “You’re either happy or you’re not, and you just go with it because that’s what kids do. They adapt.” Bucky looked at the floor. “But when you get older, sometimes it’s _all_ you think about, isn’t it? What changes, do you think? What changes to make us start thinking about it?”

He looked up, staring frankly into Tony’s eyes. Tony shook his head. “I don’t have a fucking clue, man.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Me neither. But I _do_ think about it. Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“And I think about _him_. I worry about him. He’s more than just a brother, you know. He’s...part of me. Like my other half. The good half. And I worry about him. I always worried about him. Ever since we were kids, I worried about him.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. It was another Steve-gesture, and Tony’s heart ached a bit for him. After Siberia, Tony had never thought he would feel anything but hatred for the man standing before him, but now, seeing him here, talking to him, _laughing_ with him, Tony felt a wave of kindness. Of understanding, and he welcomed it in whole-heartedly.

Bucky ran a quick hand over his face, his eyes. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I don’t worry about him anymore. At least not about him being happy. I don’t have to. ‘Cause you’re worrying about that now. Right?”

Tony felt the weight of that responsibility settle onto his shoulders. It was heavy, but it was good. Warm. Sweet. It was a burden he wanted to bear. He wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to carry it, but he wanted to try. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”

“Good,” Bucky answered. “That’s good.” He glanced down at Tony’s feet, at the name he had almost spelled out, then, using his own toe, added the last letter. E. S-T-E-V-E.

The two men looked at it for a moment, both thinking different thoughts about the same man, unified in their love for him.

In the rafters overhead, more birds chirped, rustled their many wings. Tony glanced up at them, the hundreds of tiny bodies up there watching them. He drew in a breath. He wanted to go home. He wanted Steve.

As if reading his mind, Bucky stepped back, back toward the shadows. “You should go. Steve’s waiting.”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “He is.”

“I’ll see you around, Stark.”

Bucky turned his back, but Tony couldn’t let him go. Not yet. Bucky hadn’t had to ask him here, hadn’t had to offer up first himself for death, or then, his thanks. Tony wanted to do something for him. “Barnes,” he said, and Bucky stopped. “Hey, um, I’m sorry. For the way things happened. In the bunker.” Bucky’s shoulders tensed, but Tony went on. “I didn’t want that. Any of that. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know,” Tony said. “But I’m saying it.”

Bucky glanced back, smiling his-- _Steve’s_ \--little half-smile. “He wouldn’t make the same choice now, you know,” he said. “He’d pick you. Don’t ever throw that away, or take it for granted. I swear to god, if you do, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. And not because of anything I would do to you. I wouldn’t have to do anything. You’d do it to yourself. Wouldn’t you?”

Tony nodded. “Yes.”

“I know you would. You and me, Stark, we’ve got a lot more in common than I want to admit.” He looked at the ground, then back at Tony. “Thank you, though. For saying that.”

Tony nodded again. “You’re welcome, Barnes.”

“Call me Bucky.”

And then he was gone.

He didn’t enter the shadows, he simply became one of them, and then Tony was alone in the building again. He looked down at Steve’s name, started then finished by the two men who knew him best, who loved him best. He toed a little heart next to it, feeling lovestruck, but not a bit embarrassed about doing it, then left, slipping out the door the way he’d come in.

When he got to the car, he slid behind the wheel, then looked at his phone. Three missed calls. One from Pepper, two from Steve, and one voice-mail.

Tony laid his head against the back of the car seat as Steve’s voice filled his ear. _Hey, are you okay? FRI said you went dark, and you haven’t texted me thirty times today. Gettin’ a little weird, Stark. You’re not shacking up with somebody, are you? Oh, don’t forget the dry cleaning if you want your blue suit for your stockholder meeting on Thursday. See you when you get home. I love you._

Sudden tears pricked the backs of his eyes, and he put the car into first. He was only forty-five minutes from home, but that felt like a very long time right now. He punched the gas, and shifted up through the gears, putting the ‘Cuda through her paces. He didn’t top her out, but it was close.

\---

Steve was in the kitchen when Tony walked through the door twenty-eight minutes later.

“Hey, there you are,” he said, his face brightening when he saw Tony. “We were getting worried, right, cat?”

Sir Purr jumped down from the stool and ran to Tony’s side, ready to be picked up and cuddled. Tony reached down, pet him once, but never stopped moving. 

“Thanks for getting the groceries,” Steve was saying. “Sorry I haven’t--” but then Tony was kissing him, and all thought was driven out of his head.

Tony’s mouth was rough and possessive, taking in Steve’s sweetness. He wanted to bathe in it, drown in it, die from it. But he wanted to live forever in it, too. With Steve beside him, he thought there was a chance he _might_ live forever.

“Wow,” Steve said breathlessly, when he pulled away. “God, what was _that_ for?”

“Did you kiss me goodbye this morning?”

Steve laughed a little, blue eyes shining. “Apparently not well enough.”

“Did you?” Tony pressed.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Yeah, Tony. I always do. You were still mostly asleep, but yeah, of course, I did.”

“I couldn’t remember.”

“Well, I’ll have to be more thorough next time.”

Tony wrapped his arms around him and pressed his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I want to remember.”

Steve’s hands were soft on his back, soothing and warm. “What’s the matter?”

Tony shook his head without lifting it. “Nothing. I just want to remember, that’s all.”

“That’s not all,” Steve said. “Come on. What’s going on?”

Tony pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Are you happy, Steve? For real, I mean. Do I make you happy?”

Steve smiled at him, puzzled. “That’s kind of a silly question.”

“No. It’s not. Please, baby, do I? Do I make you happy?”

Steve ran his hand through Tony’s hair. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life.”

Tony sagged against him, secure in the knowledge that Steve would hold him up, and he wasn’t disappointed. Those arms--those strong, comforting arms--came around him and held him tight. 

“Where’d all this come from?” Steve said in his ear, and Tony shook his head and clung to Steve’s shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just...I love you. I love you baby, and I think, all this time, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know? And I think I just realized today that there _isn’t_ another shoe. Is there?”

“Did you _want_ there to be another shoe?”

“No,” Tony breathed. “There just always has been. Before. There’s always been one.” He laughed a little. “And it’s kind of scary.”

Steve frowned, Tony’s favorite lines appearing between his brows. “Are you scared of being happy?”

Tony nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. I am.”

Steve pressed his mouth to Tony’s softly. “You don’t have to be,” he said. “We’re in this together, right? I’m here. I’m always gonna be here. If something’s scary, you just tell me, okay? We’ll fix it. We’ll take care of it.”

Tony closed his eyes, lay his forehead against Steve’s chest again. He didn’t want to say it. He had to say it. “I don’t want to fuck this up,” he said, voicing his deepest fear aloud.

“You won’t,” Steve said with simple assurance.

“I might.”

“No,” Steve said. “You won’t.”

Tony laughed under his breath, still holding Steve, his anchor. His rock. “You sound pretty sure. That’s scary, Steve.”

“I _am_ sure,” Steve said. “This? _Us_? It’s unfuckupable.”

“Always with the wit, huh, Rogers?”

“That’s not wit, Tony,” Steve said. “That’s truth.” He tightened his arms around Tony, holding him against his chest, and put his face in the crook of his neck. _His_ spot. “I’m gonna protect this, ‘kay?” he said against Tony’s skin. “I’m gonna protect _you._ You don’t have to be scared. ‘Cause it’s you and me, right?”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, baby. You and me.”

As if sensing he was being left out of the equation, Sir Purr began to twine around Tony’s ankles, meowing and rubbing his face against his jeans. Steve chuckled softly. “Somebody’s pissed I’m getting all the attention.”

Tony broke reluctantly away, and bent down to gather Sir Purr up into his arms. The cat gazed at him adoringly and Tony cuddled him, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, too, Sir Purr.” He looked at Steve. “Baby makes three, right, daddy?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m _not_ that thing’s daddy, Tony.”

“Beg to differ.”

Steve shook his head, smiling. “Did you get the dry cleaning?”

“Oh. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, it’s in the car.”

“I’ll get it.”

Steve started to walk away, but Tony grabbed his arm. “No. No, it can wait ‘til morning. Stay here, okay. Just-just stay with me?”

Steve put his hand on Tony’s waist, his thumb edging under his shirt to touch his skin. He bent down and kissed Tony’s mouth. It was short and sweet, just a two-second press of his lips, but Tony wouldn’t change it for anything. “Okay.”

Tony lifted Sir Purr against his shoulder. “How was your test?”

“It was good,” Steve said. “I think it was really good.”

“Tell me about it. Tell me everything about it.”

Steve frowned, distressed. “Don’t make me, Tony. If I have to think about ‘Young Goodman Brown’ for one more minute I think I might go crazy.”

Tony laughed. “Talk about something else then,” he said, curling his free arm through Steve’s and letting him lead him back to the kitchen. Dinner was on the stove. Spaghetti and homemade marinara. Garlic bread on the counter all ready for the oven. Salad in the fridge. Bottle of chianti on the table. “I want to listen to you talk all night. Okay, baby?”

“All night?”

“All night.”

Steve turned into Tony, put his hand on Sir Purr’s back, scritching his fingers in his fur, and kissed Tony again over the cat’s head. “How about I talk half the night, and the other half, you kiss me?”

Tony sighed a little, the sights, and sounds, and smells of this place--of _Steve_ \--invading all of his senses. Never had he felt such an all-encompassing sense of rightness, of the simple pleasures of being home. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, Steve. Seriously. The best one.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tony nodded, kissed him again, then sat on the stool with Sir Purr in his arms. “Yeah. I’m good. I’m all kinds of good.”

Steve smiled. “Good,” he said, then went back to dinner. He put the garlic bread in the oven, and took the salad out of the fridge. 

Tony pet Sir Purr, his eyes on Steve’s back. “Hey,” he said lightly, “you should call Bucky. Invite him up again for the weekend.”

Steve smiled a sad little smile. “He always says no.”

“Try him again, baby,” Tony said. “You’ll wear him down eventually.”

Steve looked at him from under his lashes, the little smile turning hopeful. “You think so?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“And you’d be okay with that?”

Tony shrugged, smiled a little himself. “I can handle it.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Tony nodded. “Great. Now, tell me all about ‘Young Goodman Brown’.”

Steve threw a dish towel in his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I think there's going to be one more story. I think there's one more thing that needs to be said, and then this should (really, this time!) be done. I am going to try and get it done within the week. See you then!!
> 
> "Young Goodman Brown" fans out there: Sorry. I just couldn't handle it in school. Don't know why.
> 
> Title from The White Stripes song.


End file.
